


The Brook

by halfhardtorock



Category: Nicholas Nickleby - Charles Dickens
Genre: First Time, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, au smike lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-13 00:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4499892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfhardtorock/pseuds/halfhardtorock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Yes, I want to," Nicholas breathes hotly at his parted mouth, feeling their quick breath match, mingle. He licks at the boy's slack bottom lip once, just a swipe of his tongue. Smike is shivering apart, and his hands catch wring at the shoulders of Nicholas's shirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Brook

The years of sun and good cheer do something to Smike, something _wonderful_. Before Nicholas's eyes, he thrives. From a pitiable, pale creature, he grows into this almost elegant thing with clever hands, small but firm and _straight_ shoulders and a lovely, handsome countenance. He is not pretty like some men (perhaps like himself), but he is beautiful to behold, a young man who wears happiness on his face like it's been given by the grace of God. 

Smike doesn't seem aware though, of the changes fate has made of his form. He still folds inward when he meets new people, keeps his dark eyes downcast. His face reddens now, with the hint of a blush when he is embarrassed, and it only makes others want to know him more. Sadly, Smike is too shy, too self-conscious. Often, after a day in town when people make more eye contact than Smike can bear, Nicholas can feel him shivering next to him in the carriage, body tight with stress.

So Nicholas doesn't make the young man leave the country often. Which is fine, for both of them.

The air and the lush, warm summer is good for Smike. When they are alone, and often they are now that Kate has married, Smike blooms. He laughs hard, he drinks wine with Nicholas much too early, until they're both drunk on it and have lost their cravats. They try to smoke and cough until they need to take tea. They sometimes wander into the orchard and eat windfall pears, keeping step with each other. Smike lopes under the bower's shadows and gives Nicholas long, warm grins. Nicholas thinks that perhaps Smike may be the love of his life. 

Though he wonders sometimes if these love-looks Smike gives him are for a savior or a brother, not for a husband.

 

They're fishing, and Smike has this small crumple right in the middle of his sun-burned brow, which only proves how serious he takes the task. Nicholas hides a laugh, but he is proud that Smike has become such a sportsman. He sometimes finds the young man in the study, pipe in his hand, reading critically a book on the past time. Nicholas though, is much less of a fisherman.

He skins off his breeches, grinning cheekily.

It takes Smike a moment to notice, and then he's spluttering as Nicholas jumps into the brook. 

When he comes up, shirt plastered to his chest, Smike is staring at him, still clutching his fishing rod. 

"Come now, Smike! There are no fish for miles now! Come in, it's damnably hot!"

Smike frowns, looks into the water for his fish. And then he carefully lays his rod aside in the grass, obedient. Nicholas dives under, swims through the glassy green water, looking at the silt puff up like smoke from the bottom. When he comes back up, he pushes his hair out of his eyes and looks back at his friend.

Smike is sitting at the edge still, on the rock wall, knees to his chest. 

"Come on, Smike," Nicholas says, soft, teasing. "Please, my friend. It will soothe you."

Smike's face is pinched. If Nicholas didn't know him better, he'd think this handsome fellow was angry, irritated. But Nicholas can see that Smike is as capable of being angry as sweet Kate is of being cruel. He swims over, plucking his collar from where it's wet to his collar bone. "Come now, don't fret. I will not let you drown. The water is not very deep here."

Smike's eyes close, hurt. And when he talks, his voice is that musical whisper that Nicholas loves. "I...don't want you to watch."

Nicholas pauses, confused. And then he sees Smike swallow, sees Smike begin plucking at his own laces with his mouth thinned, determined.

Nicholas turns away. He watches a dragonfly skip across the water and then go airborne again. 

He hears the splash and then Smike's sharp "Ah, the water!"

Nicholas turns quickly, finds his friend clutching the wall with one hand for dear life while he wipes off his wet face with the other.

When he catches his breath, he looks at Nicholas with such wonder. A drop of water clings at the very lobe of his reddened ear. Nicholas swims closer, slowly, trying not to startle him.

"It's...c-cold," Smike says, lip quivering. But Nicholas knows he is not trembling from the cold, he is trembling from the new experience, from being half-nude with Nicholas in the brook in the middle of the day, where anyone coming by can see them.

Nicholas clutches the wall one-handed too, says "It is not too bad, is it?"

Smike stares at him, then turns away, shoulders just _jumping_ with fresh shivers.

"Smike, don't fret. Please. I enjoy you here, so much. Right now, in the sun, in the brook....I have never been happier," he promises, voice low. 

Smike's shoulders tighten up. "I don't...want you to look at me. Not...not for a moment," he says to that, voice a little broken. 

Nicholas gazes away then, plucking flowers from the cracks between the rock. He scatters them in the water and then sighs, says "I like to look at you, though, my friend."

Smike makes a soft snort. Nicholas rests an elbow on the rocks, legs moving in the water. He gazes at him again. Smike is looking back, was probably watching when Nicholas was looking away. His eyes are always so full of longing, so bright with it. Like he craves Nicholas the way a body craves water, food to feed it.

Smike's eyes look away quickly, and his jaw works.

"God, you do not know how handsome you are. How fine you've become. You are a great pleasure to look at," Nicholas tells him.

"Don't," Smike begs. "Nicholas, you. You don't have to...say such things, to make me feel better."

He's pained, embarrassed. Nicholas loves the way Smike's pale, violet shirt is slick to his back, to his good, sturdy shoulders. Nicholas reaches to touch, but Smike jerks away, out of reach.

"I don't say such things to make you feel anything but _pleasure_. To feel the way you make _me_ feel. I want to see that good pleasure move across your beautiful face."

Smike looks back, eyes so wide. He's surprised at this. Nicholas has said too much.

He moves closer, shushing the way you'd shush a child. He can't help himself, he takes Smike's face into his palms and kisses his mouth suddenly.

Oh by God, Smike's mouth is _hot_ inside, hot and finely textured, wonderful to open with his tongue.

Smike rips away with a gasp. " _Nicholas_ ," his voice _high_ with shock.

Nicholas follows, kissing up his tensed jaw.

"Yes, I want to," Nicholas breathes hotly at his parted mouth, feeling their quick breath match, mingle. He licks at the boy's slack bottom lip once, just a swipe of his tongue. Smike is shivering apart, and his hands catch wring at the shoulders of Nicholas's shirt.

"Get up, hoist up. Oh my darling, hoist yourself up on the wall," Nicholas begs, crowding in and catching the boy under one arm, trying to lift him himself.

Smike reaches back for the rock, would never deny Nicholas something he's asked for, begins to lift out. But when he is halfway, he seems to remember something and tries to go back into the water with a frantic "I can't, I can't!"

"Yes, you _must_ ," Nicholas says passionately, stopping him from sneaking back in.

Smike ends up perched miserably on the rock, curled over himself, hands moving to cover between the legs, then down further, to cover his...oh god.

Nicholas grabs that hand by the wrist, holds it away.

"No, Nicholas-" Smike almost whimpers, face crumpling. "Please."

He's trying to cover his leg. 

Nicholas has never seen his bare legs and he finds himself staring at the twist in the bone, the way it is thinner in places than his other leg. The pink scarring. The proof of his torture.

When Nicholas looks back at his face, he finds Smike almost crying, mouth all curled, face turned like he cannot stand to see Nicholas inspecting him.

" _Oh my love_ ," Nicholas breathes, ducks down in the water to put his mouth to the scar. 

He kisses it, drags the bridge of his nose over it, smelling. Warms and squeezes it in his hand.

And then he laves it, testing with his tongue, putting the man's foot at his shoulder, stretching it as gently as he can. He nuzzles and licks long stripes up it, cleaning the brook water off.

"Nicholas, oh my. Oh my, no. No no no," Smike is moaning breathlessly, over and over. But when his hand finds Nicholas's head, it's not to push him away. It's to clutch at his hair, hold it.

Nicholas groans, his sex stiffening, lifting up even in the cool water.

"Yes, love. _Yes_. Smike," he flashes his tongue at the underside of the boy's knee where it is soft and salty with sweat. Smike gasps, the muscle in his leg contracting.

When he looks, Smike's mouth is slack, panting-quick. And his chest is flushed, a strip of bright red just down the center where his shirt is loose, laces fallen open.

Nicholas has to know if Smike feels as he does. So he lifts his friend's wet shirt, peeks.

There, between his pale, near hairless thighs is his pink, lovely cock. It's very hard, pointing up sharply against his small stomach. The cool air seems to startle Smike, and his prick has the most delightful responsiveness. It flexes, blushing deeper, right before Nicholas's eyes.

"Smike," he sighs, puts his hand there, takes that cock in a loose fist. Smike cries out, hips lifting off the rock. His foot is still on Nicholas's shoulder, and it twists a little, hooking the back of Nicholas's neck. Helplessly, the young man is lifting up and pulling Nicholas closer, like his arousal is uncontrollable. 

So Nicholas leans in, whispers "Sweet Smike," and envelopes that plum of thick, reddened glans with his warm mouth.

"Ahnnn," Smike cries out, strangled. His hips writhe, roll. His body practically _spasms_ at the feeling. Nicholas has never done this, but there can be nothing wrong with making Smike feel such a thing. He hefts himself up on the rock so he can take the sweet length of flesh deeply, so he can bob on it, over and over again.

"Nicholas," Smike gasps. "It's so...I _cannot_...it...it feels so--!"

Perhaps this is the only thing he would ever beg of Smike, even if it was against his wishes: _come to your pleasure in my mouth, between my lips. I want you to find it where it is safe and warm._

He looks up with pleading eyes while he goes down again and again. Smike's cock touches the very heart of his throat.

Smike's face becomes so full of _beautiful gratitude_ , Nicholas has to reach and hold himself. His own need for release has stiffened his prick beyond pleasure, has made him sore.

When Smike's pleasure comes, he's transported, eyes rolling closed, head gone back on his shoulders. It's such an exquisite sight, Nicholas only needs to squeeze himself and he's coming too, pleasure so brilliant he mewls around the spurt in his mouth.

He drags himself out of the brook, mouth dripping come and water, and settles heavily, suddenly over his friend. Smike grunts at his weight, falls onto his back in the long grass.

They are a tangle of limbs. Even in the sun, Nicholas shivers in his wet shirt and burrows against Smike for warmth.

When he looks, Smike's face is _befuddled_. He looks almost drunk. Nicholas stares.

When Smike turns to him, his lip is twitching with a soft, dazed smile and he says "I...have never felt such a thing."

Nicholas grins wildly, touches his friend's sweet mouth with his fingers, then strokes his eyebrows and the bridge of his nose.

"You will not be a stranger to it, by the time the week is out. I will make sure of it," Nicholas says with relish.

Smike sighs, drifts into the grass, eyes closed with bliss.


End file.
